Slipping Under: The Allure Of Agent Jack Bristow
by Celtic Ceilidh
Summary: English-born rookie CIA agent Melanie King has fallen under the spell of a very experienced, mature fellow agent: Jack Bristow. Content suitable for ADULTS only, hence the M rating. Features blood, sex, a smattering of S&M, plus one disapproving daughter. Jack Bristow/OC kink. Submissive and (slightly OOC) Jack Bristow - for a change!
1. Slipping Under

**Author's Note: **Writing for the_ Alias_ fandom is relatively new for me, so forgive me for any discrepancies. I'm more used to writing for the_ Titanic_ fandom.

I'm an_ Alias_ latecomer - I hold my hands up! I was brought to it through none other than _Titanic_, believe it or not. A certain Irish shipbuilder, played by a certain Canadian actor, who also played a certain agent in _Alias. _Funny how a ship that sunk 100 years ago can bring me to write something like this...

This is possibly a oneshot, but I'm conflicted on that. It has the potential to be more; but right now, it's complete.**  
**

Please be aware of unabashed Jack Bristow smut ahead!

**RATED M FOR SEX, BLOOD AND SOME LANGUAGE  
**

**(I don't own Jack and Sydney Bristow, or Victor Garber (sadly), but I do own Agent Melanie King.)  
**

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**Location:** London, England - back entrance of the Royal Albert Hall

**Mission:** Tracking down the lead cellist of the London Philharmonic Orchestra, a man who leads a double life in England and the United States. He may hold the key to the disappearance of a top U.S. lawyer.

**Agents assigned:** Jack Bristow, Sydney Bristow, and Oxfordshire-born rookie agent, Melanie King.

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**Slipping Under: The Power Of Agent Jack Bristow  
**

**...  
**

It was cold and dark, and I could just about make him out. I ran towards him.

''Jack!''

Jack Bristow was leaning against the wall, panting hard and clutching the right side of his chest. He saw me, and shook his head.

''I'm-I'm fine, Agent King.''

Fine? He didn't _look _fine. He was sweating profusely, and blood was seeping through between his fingers, as he continued to nurse his chest. The left side of his face was bruised, across his cheekbone and down to his jaw. It was at times like these that I put the agent in me to one side, and concentrated on fussing over him instead. He was 25 years my senior, and we worked together from time to time. His daughter Sydney, a fellow CIA agent, didn't know how close we'd become. She'd had her suspicions, but her daddy and me kept our pokerfaces and lied to her every time she'd asked. _There's nothing going on between your father and me, Sydney. _I don't think she ever believed us. Keeping pokerfaced was all part of life in this game. Jack and me, we were, well...fuck buddies, really. Except for one thing; I was becoming emotionally attached to him, in ways that I knew I shouldn't have been. I couldn't help it. But he was Jack Bristow. I wanted to be the one to 'tame the wild beast', I suppose you could say.

''Let me look at that,'' I insisted, nudging his blood covered hand out of the way.

I slipped his jacket off of his shoulder to get a better look. The blood was soaking through his shirt.

''Baby, what happened?''

''Don't 'baby' me, Agent King,'' he warned, wincing at my touch. ''It's a knife wound. Nothing serious. Stop fussing,''

I didn't listen, of course. I began undoing his shirt buttons, and I peeled the bloody side of his shirt from his chest. He rolled his eyes at my concern, then winced again as the fresh air nipped at his injuries. I observed the wounds; yes, there were slash marks across his flesh and he needed to be patched up. But despite the blood, his injuries appeared to be more superificial than I'd first thought. I was relieved.

''You sure you'll be alright, Jack?'' I asked him, shaking my head. ''You need to stem the flow till we can patch you up,''

He snorted, a trace of a smile on that usually rigid face of his.

''You get an A for stating the obvious, Agent King."

Sarcastic bastard that he was; one of many the reasons why he was so appealing.

''Oh, cut me some slack,'' I sighed, ''You were being shot at and blown up when I was still catching the school bus. You're used to being a human target,"

Still trying to catch his breath, he gave another uncharacteristic hint of a smile. Jack wasn't known for showing emotion, even at the most desperate times. He was a pro with the stoic facial expressions. All part of the job, of course. He straightened himself up and staggered forward a little.

''Headrush,'' he groaned, steadying himself with his huge hands on my shoulders. Jack was a almost a foot taller than me - something else I liked. A tall, strong, older man with silver hair. His hands were the size of spades, and his feet were the size of boats. It's true what they say about men with big feet...

His blood was all over my palms and my fingertips, even under my nails. I had nothing to wipe it on, except for my clothes. But the sticky, tacky feeling of human blood was actually rather erotic to me. I'd always been oddly attracted bleeding men; I can't say why, exactly. I seemed to have a bit of a fetish - I suppose it was almost vampirish. Now that I knew Jack was in no danger, I wanted to play with him a little. There was no-one else around, and it was almost midnight.

''Agent Bristow,'' I cooed, pushing him backwards into the wall.

''...the hell are you-?''

I ripped open the rest of his shirt with an animalistic urgency, and ran my fingers gently over his slash wounds.

''I should've known this would turn you on,'' he said with a monotonous, matter-of-fact tone to his voice. Then he slid down the wall, landing with a bump on his backside on the ground. He splayed his long legs out ahead of him, and held his head in his hands for a moment. He looked back up at me, squinting his dark brown eyes as though he was trying to focus.

''Kinda seeing two of you here, Agent King!" he laughed.

Jack wasn't one to laugh, so I assumed his lightheadedness was affecting his ability to be a po-faced bastard. Not that I was complaining, though. I got down to his level on the ground and straddled myself in his lap. His shirt was hanging off of him, and the blood from his slash wounds was still running down his chest. I raised my hands and smeared the blood across his skin with my fingertips, making sure he could feel my nails scratching his flesh.

''Taking advantage of an injured man, Agent King?'' he quipped, doing nothing to stop me.

''I'd never do duch a thing,'' I purred, swirling the blood in random patterns all over his chest and up his neck.

I took his face in my hands, transfering the red stickiness to his face with my touch. I tenderly ran my thumb over his bruised cheekbone, and leaned forward to 'kiss it better'. I brushed my fingers down over his lips, making sure he could taste the saltiness of his own blood. Then I kissed him, gently at first. I nibbled on his bottom lip and turned my head sideways, planting my hands on his bare shoulders. Our tongues entwined and his hands soon found their way under my blouse, unclipping my bra at the back, without hesitancy. I freed myself of my blouse and threw my bra to the ground - it was rare for me to be outside topless, on a cold October night in merry old England. Not the brightest thing to do, maybe. But I was feeling especially naughty at that moment. I pushed my plentiful assets forward into Jack's chest, skin-to-skin. The blood was still warm and sticky, continuing to ooze from his wounds. My breasts were smeared with the stuff now, too. That was how I liked it, and he wasn't exactly complaining. He was enjoying the party, gasping and panting at every little touch and every little movement. I bit his neck hard, and he jerked his head up.

''I've got a theory about you, Agent King,'' he mused breathlessly, squirming around underneath me. ''Your skin could use some tan, and you only ever come out at night. You love blood and biting necks. If you're not a vampire, then I'm gonna lose a hundred dollar bet,"

I gave a soft chuckle at his 'theory' as I reached down, and with my blood smeared fingers, grappled with the zipper of his pants. He pulled my skirt up around my waist and I raised myself up a little. I took a hold of him and slid him in, pushing my hips down slowly. He gave a low groan as I completely took control of the situation. Jack Bristow was never the one in charge when we did these things - no way. It was always _me_. Always the pale, English Rose who looked like she wouldn't say 'boo' to a goose. Indeed, my rather delicate looks were quite deceptive. I think that was why Jack liked me so much; I spoke with a prim and proper Oxfordshire accent, and I looked like something out of '_Pride and Prejudice_'. But on the other side of the coin, I was a tough bitch agent, and a slut in the bedroom. Jack appreciated my...many_ talents_, so to speak.

I moved my hips up and down, still straddling his lap, and he closed his eyes, savouring the moment. I ran my red, sticky fingers through his silver, wavy hair...down his ears and over his jawline, then down his sinewy neck. His skin was glistening with a combination of blood and sweat, just the way I liked it. His hands were gripping my waist and he attempted to control the pace, but I wouldn't let him.

''Move a little faster, Agent King,'' he growled in my ear.

I lifted his chin with my finger to look him deep in the eyes, and shook my head. There was a sultry, all-knowing smile on my lips.

Suddenly, the radio attached to the belt on my hip crackled into life.

_''Agent King! You're in full view of the night vision cameras!"_

Shit. It was Sydney Bristow.

_''Get the hell off my father!"_

The girl clearly wasn't happy. And our cover was blown - we'd been busted by the very person we'd continuously lied to.

Jack pulled the radio from my belt and held it to his mouth, keeping eye contact with me as he did so.

''It's not what you think, Syd. I'm injured. Agent King is just er, helping patch me up.''

The radio crackled again.

_''So Agent King took off her bra for medical purposes? Save it, dad.''_

She was pissed, alright.

Jack shook his head and pushed the radio back into my belt again.

''Wouldn't be the first time she's caught me fucking around on the job.''

I grabbed my bra and my blouse and hurriedly put them back on.

''I'm sure the sight of her father having sex is enough to scar her for life.''

Jack snorted, zipping up his pants first and then buttoning up his shirt.

''She_ is_ CIA, Agent King. She can handle her daddy having a little fun once in a while.''

I stood up, smoothed my skirt down over my thighs and shook my hair out of my face.

''I wish I could agree with you, baby. Right now, the only thing that scares me is facing her wrath!"

Jack slowly got to his feet, still a little wobbly.

''Leave Sydney to me. And quit calling me 'baby'.''

I wrinkled my nose.

''Only if you_ start_ calling me Mel.''

Jack snorted; he was clearly disgusted at such a request. He raised an eyebrow, turned on his heel, and walked away, still slightly unsteady on his feet. I was left standing there on my own like an idiot, feeling a pang of disappointment that he wouldn't connect with me any further. But there was no logic to my feelings; I was falling in love with this sarcastic, emotionless bastard. Jack Bristow was what he was, and I'd already accepted that. I still pined to see a softer side to him, though. Maybe one day he'd actually let me in.


	2. Dominance

**Author's Note: **

I've decided to continue with this after a few readers asked me to, but this story won't have an arc. Instead it will be a short collection of racy oneshots, featuring Jack Bristow and my feisty agent OC, Melanie King.

I imagine her as looking and sounding similar to a 90s-style Kate Winslet, or a younger version of Julianne Moore in 'Hannibal'. But Agent King can be whoever the reader wants her to be - as long as she's pale with long red hair!

**(This chapter contains some mild S&M, Jack Bristow restrained, and the erotic use of a knife. Remember, this story is M rated for a reason; don't like the subject matter, don't read!)  
**

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**Chapter 2: Dominance**

We were surveying the damage of SD-6's downfall, the day after the CIA had infiltrated the Credit Dauphine offices. We'd succeeded in pulling apart the Alliance, and the atmosphere was a jubilant one. Jack Bristow had taken me along for the ride. Being the newest English rookie onboard, I was still learning on the job. Of course, Jack and Sydney had worked undercover at SD-6, and I'd heard many a story about Arvin Sloane's heinous torture methods.

Jack had been interrogated and given electric shocks treatment the previous day by Sloane's stand-in, a snake named Anthony Geiger. It was almost a miracle that Jack was still alive. He was always getting caught up in messy and downright dangerous situations, and it worried the hell out of me. Even his own methods were sometimes questionable. But Jack was Jack, and I had to take him or leave him. He'd made that clear from the very beginning.

We were going casual today; I hadn't bothered with straightening irons that morning, so my waist length hair was hanging in wild, auburn ringlets over my shoulders. I was wearing a tight blue sweater and jeans, and Jack was dressed in a black leather jacket, navy shirt, cargo pants and boots. No stuffy office suits, for a change. Officially it was his day off, and mine coincided. We often worked different shifts. We were due to go to dinner later that evening, but he couldn't resist taking me to see what was left of SD-6 at Credit Dauphine. Sydney and Vaughn agreed that I could see what they'd been dealing with, as part of my training.

The SD-6 offices were a mess from yesterday's raid and infiltration. Equipment was littered all over the floors, chairs and desks were overturned and there were bullet holes visible in the walls.

''I feel terrible for all the workers who were fed these lies,'' I told Jack, as we stepped over frazzled wires and rubble on the ground. ''To think they were working for the CIA, when all along they were employed by those bastards. It must be hitting them hard today.''

''Yes, but it's over now, Agent King,'' he said matter-of-factly, pokerfaced as always. ''While we're here, it might be useful for you to see the conversation room. The Alliance was not averse to using whatever methods it could to gain intel,''

We walked across to the elevator and he let me go inside first.

''Do I _really_ need to see that right now?'' I asked him a little anxiously. ''It's our day off, remember?''

He stood next to me and punched the elevator button to take us down.

''We learn all day, _every_ day. You agreed to come here, Agent King."

The doors slid shut and he kept his eyes straight ahead of him. I didn't want to argue, so I changed the subject. I moved a step closer to him and slipped my hands under his jacket, resting my palms on his hint of middle aged spread.

''You don't need to keep calling me Agent King in public, Jack. And definitely not in private!''

He rolled his eyes.

''I won't be refering to you as _Mel_, if that's what you're getting at,'' he said firmly.

The elevator stopped on the ground floor, and Jack removed my hands from his middle as the doors opened.

''Follow me,'' he ordered, marching ahead to the conversation room down the corridor.

I did as I was told and caught up with him inside the now abandoned room. I tried my best not to appear too surprised, but the feeling inside was somewhat different. It was a dark, gloomy little place that was nothing more than a torture chamber. It was rigged out with various torture instruments, and a wooden chair with arm and leg restraints. The eletrocution device was still there from yesterday, when Geiger had used it on Jack.

''How the hell did you survive this?'' I gasped, my eyes scanning the room at the mess. Various pieces of equipment had been thrown to the floor and the walls were riddled with bullet holes.

Jack turned his back to me as he picked up a scalpel from the metal tray next to the torture chair.

''I like to think that I'm immortal.'' he replied nonchalantly.

Did I detect a hint of dry humour there? Jack was a master at keeping a straight face, no matter what the situation was, and his tone of voice showed little trace of emotion. The man was the living embodiment of a well honed spy, even on his supposed day off. He waved the scalpel in the air before putting it back on the tray again.

''Scalpels, knives, needles and syringes. All very routine around here,''

I nodded, and he continued to stand with his back to me. He frustrated me at times; I'd been seeing him for a couple of months, but it was still difficult for him to drop his guard around me. Oddly enough, the only time he would ever do that was when we were being intimate together. Lately, we'd both been so busy that those chances had dwindled away to almost nothing. I had some tricks up my sleeve for this evening after dinner, but I'd been feeling quite desperate for his touch all day long. And it was only mid afternoon now! Ideas were already beginning to run through my mind. I eyed the chair, with its arm and leg restraints. Jack knew of my little kinks and was used to me initiating sex in the strangest places, so I was sure that my latest genius idea wouldn't send him running for the hills.

''Jack?'' I purred, a smile crossing my face.

He was still preoccupied with whatever it was he was looking at, and I had to get his attention somehow. I reached my hand down to his rear end and gave it a quick squeeze. He turned on his heel and raised an eyebrow at me.

''Do you have a _question _for me, Agent King?''

I deliberately batted my eyelashes and slid my hand between his legs, over his pants. His face showed no change and he didn't even flinch.

''Not a question, Jack,'' I replied. ''An _order_.''

He jutted his jaw forward, attempting to keep his pokerface.

''I don't respond to orders from _rookie_ agents.''

Usually such a comment would've put me in my place, but Jack knew where I was going with this one and he was clearly playing along. The pulsing between his legs against my hand confirmed it to me.

''_This_ rookie agent begs to differ,'' I teased, slowly running my index finger up and down the zipper of his pants. The usually stern faced Agent Bristow was quickly beginning to unravel in front of me. I snatched my hand away from his crotch and dragged him by the arm, over to the torture chair. I pushed his leather jacket off of his shoulders, and it dropped to the dusty, rubble strewn floor behind him.

''That's a three hundred and fifty dollar jacket, Agent King!" he warned me, though I think he was complaining for effect more than any else.

Ignoring his quip about the jacket, I pushed him down onto the chair. My my, Jack Bristow was actually _grinning_! His almost permanent scowl was replaced by a look of mischief instead. I took each of his arms and placed his wrists in the leather restraints, securing them firmly. He didn't resist or complain. I stood to the side of the chair and put my hands on my hips, slowly tapping my foot.

''Agent Brist-_ow_,'' I said in my best smokey voice, dragging out the last syllable of his name slowly. ''What am I to do with you, hmm? You've been a _very_ bad boy, haven't you?''

His chest began to rise and fall faster, and his excitement was rather obvious - even in those baggy cargo pants.

''I've been a _dispicable_ excuse for a human being, Agent King...''

I took my hands off my hips and looked over to the metal tray to seek out that scalpel he'd shown me earlier. I saw it, but decided against it in favour of the pen knife next to it. I picked it up and flicked it open, revealing a fresh, glinting blade. I showed it to him.

''Yes, Agent Bristow. You have,'' I agreed, stalking towards him slowly with the knife in my hand. I stopped in front of him and lifted the blade to his face, resting the cold steel against his cheekbone. He stared me in the eyes and didn't even flinch. After a moment, I dragged the blade over his chin, down his neck, and down his chest over his shirt. I put the knife between my teeth to free my hands, so that I could undo his buttons one by one. After I had done so, I pulled his shirt wide open and returned the knife back to my hand. I held it carefully to the skin of his bare chest, and trailed the blade slowly down his middle, stopping where the waistband of his pants began. He closed his eyes and drew an intake of breath through his teeth.

''I'm going to give you a choice, Agent Bristow,'' I commanded. I was still playing with him, getting him worked up in the way he liked best. ''Do you choose _death_, or _exile_?''

He wriggled his shoulders as his breathing quickened with every passing second. Sweat was beginning to form in the lines of his forehead; yes, it turned me on seeing Jack Bristow so hot and bothered during our risque little games.

''_Answer_ me!" I barked, prodding the tip of the knife into his stomach.

He opened his eyes.

''Neither, but I'll go for death _by _exile.''

I shook my head.

''Not acceptable. In that case, I'll choose _for_ you. But you won't know what it will be until I'm done!''

I moved my free hand over the waistband of his pants and found the zipper. I tugged it down and slid the pen knife inside - Jack certainly flinched this time! I traced the blade over his straining boxers, underneath his pants. Again, Jack closed his eyes and moved his head back on the headrest.

''Agent King, do you generally pleasure a man with _knives_?'' he managed to ask me, still wriggling and squirming.

I grabbed his chin and turned his head forcefully, causing him to open his eyes.

''Did I ask you to _speak_, Agent Bristow?'' I snarled, my face an inch away from his. ''One wrong move and you could find yourself very much less of a man. And you do have rather a lot to lose...''

He gave a mischievous smile and closed his eyes again, groaning as he did so. Keeping the pen knife in his pants for now, I leaned forward and planted my lips on his, slipping my tongue into his mouth and circling it around his. I barely gave him room to breathe as I kissed him deeply, making sure he knew exactly who was boss in this situation. It certainly wasn't him...

I snaked my free hand up his body and into his silvery hair, grabbing a fistful of his wavy locks and winding them tightly around my fingers. I then pulled my mouth away from his and yanked his head back by his hair, hard. Panting and gasping, he blinked until his eyes could adjust again. I smirked knowingly, observing my submissive male subject. My lip gloss was smeared across his chin and sweat was trickling down his forehead. His hair was ruffled, his shirt was wide open and his pants were undone with my hand still in them, holding that knife between his legs. And he couldn't do a thing about any of it, as his wrists were securely trussed up by his sides. I liked having one over on this cocky bastard.

''Are we having fun, Agent Bristow?'' I inquired, tilting my head to the side with curiosity.

Still breathing hard, he nodded. Deciding to move to the next step, I removed the pen knife from inside his pants and threw it to the floor. Then I kicked off my heels, unzipped my own jeans and peeled them from my legs.

''Let's finish this off, shall we?'' I breathed, clambering onto his lap and straddling him. I fumbled inside his pants and pulled him out of his boxers, moving my French knickers out of the way to let him in. I lowered myself down on top of him and he gave a low moan at the sensation of being inside his woman. He seemed frustrated that his hands were restrained by his sides, but of course, he knew that was part of the game. I slowly began to move myself up and down, and his head lolled backwards. For not paying me his full attention, I gave him a short, sharp smack across the cheek, causing him to screw up his eyes and gasp a little.

''Shit,'' he muttered. ''That stings, _darling_.''

A reddish imprint from my palm and fingers appeared on his skin a few moments later, and I grabbed his smarting face with both of my hands.

''Keep your eyes _on_ me, you pathetic son of a bitch," I ordered, continuing to rise and fall on top of him.

He obeyed, those intense brown eyes staring right into mine, every second after. I speeded up up little, knowing that it was driving him crazy being unable to touch me or do anything else but sit there. I skimmed my hands all over his chest and dug my sharp nails into his skin, visibly sending goosebumps all the way down his body. He fought to catch his breath and his face contorted into into another Bristow scowl. I knew _that _expression very well; he was just about to reach his point of no return. Smiling like the evil bitch that I was, I literally stopped, pulled him out and climbed off his lap. He was a throbbing, squirming, panting mess.

''What the hell are you doing?'' he asked me breathlessly, watching me stoop over and pick my jeans up off the floor. Then he drew a breath in through his teeth and gave a shudder, as he felt the inevitable happen anyway. It was seconds after my stimulation had stopped, but I'd rather hoped he'd come in his pants like that. All part of my little game.

I zipped up my jeans, slipped on my heels and shot a large smile in his direction.

''I like to _tease_, Agent Bristow.'' I said proudly, pulling a tube of lip gloss from my pocket and using the metal tray as a mirror. As though nothing had happened, I reapplied the colour and returned the tube to my pocket.

Still panting, Jack hung his head, feigning defeat.

''Alright, Mel. You got me,'' he said, slowly lifting his head again. ''I've made a mess in my pants, and I _hope_ that satisfied your desire to dominate me...''

My ears pricked up and I wondered if I'd heard him right. I narrowed my eyes and walked back towards him.

''Wait a minute,'' I said, frowning. ''What did you call me?''

Still catching his breath, he seemed confused.

''I don't follow you,''

I lifted my hand to his face, but instead of being domineering and forceful, I stroked his cheek tenderly.

''Baby, you called me _Mel._''

Jack snorted and averted his eyes to the wall behind me.

''You must've been hearing things, Agent King!"

I shook my head and ran my fingers gently through his hair.

''No, Jack. You definitely called me Mel.''

He did that adorable thing with his jaw, jutting it out to stop himself from smiling.

''Well, _maybe _I did. Just don't tell anyone else I let my guard down, _Agent King!_ Or else...I might have to kill you.''

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**Author's credit**: Agent King's line 'death, or exile' and Jack's line 'death _by_ exile', are inspired by dialogue spoken by Dr. Jonathan Crane in _The Dark Knight Rises_.


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